


Some Bad Business

by Angelicasdean



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur can't catch a break, Botched job, Early gang days, Gunshot Wounds, Susan Grimshaw being her usual self, Worried Dutch, Young Arthur Morgan, dad hosea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 02:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18326990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelicasdean/pseuds/Angelicasdean
Summary: Sometimes Arthur thinks he personally offended fate, somehow had gotten her, luck and karma all against him.





	Some Bad Business

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my head for a few days, originally I was going to make Arthur die but decided that the game handles that enough. Enjoy.

Sometimes Arthur thinks he personally offended fate, somehow had gotten her, luck and karma all against him. Was it his existence, maybe, or his life choices. Could even be his wardrobe choices for all he knows. He seems to have the worst of the worst, ever since he was a boy, a bad daddy, dead mommy and being homeless at 10, living off of trash and whoever had enough kindness in their heart to give him a few cents. He’d gotten picked on in the streets, got robbed out of his shoes, lost his dog, his horse, the little corner he called a home. The only thing that’d been right was running into Hosea and Dutch, who had given him a home and someone to look up to. Taught him how to shoot a gun, how to hunt, skin and cook, how to stealthily steal and how to ride a horse. Gave him one too.

 

Still, even with them, his luck had turned muddy almost immediately, the small jobs that they’d gone together on to get him started ran smoothly for all of two and then got rocky once they’d stepped into bigger things, stagecoaches, stores that ran in the middle of travel roads, ect. Whether it be falling on his ass while getting down from his horse, not being able to keep his bandana on his face or most commonly, getting a gun shoved into his face in defense.

 

Generally, they come unscathed, either pockets full of cash or a new story to tell Grimshaw. Sometimes, though, things get ugly. Sometimes the gun fires, sometimes the law comes or men rush to aide whoever they’re antagonizing. Those times, Arthur acts on fear more than skill, most times his hand trembles while holding his gun if they’re chased and Hosea’d have him wrapped in a blanket when they get back to camp, always ready to tell him it’s okay to be scared.

 

This is one of those times.

 

He’s already looking forward to leaving the place, ready to get the hell on his horse and out of this town. It’s dark, has soupy air and angry drunks as their population. Their robbery hadn’t worked out smoothly, Dutch shooting the man they’d tried to fool when he made a move to shoot Hosea. Arthur isn’t well acquainted with dead bodies yet, but he doesn’t feel as much remorse knowing it was either him or Hosea.

 

Of course, the town had jumped at the noise, seemingly all waiting on Dutch, Arthur and Hosea to get out of the little house and into their streets; people shouting threats and even breaking down the door as they make their escape through the window.

 

The horses are far, too far from where they are, probably eating weed peacefully. Which leaves them two choices, either go through the alleyways or through the streets.

 

Sanely, they chose to sneak through the alleyway, Dutch and Hosea trading a short argument that ends with Hosea thanking Dutch for being quick. Arthur would laugh, their arguments fall on the funny spectrum more that serious. Their callbacks are entertaining to watch with Grimshaw and Pearson as they prepare dinner. But now, Arthur can’t help but feel anxious as they wade through the muddy alleyway, their boots squelching under them. He’s had the law chase them before, once had an entire village too, but in his four years running with them, he’d never had a town of probably trigger happy drunks chase them.

 

Eventually, Dutch says they’re close, and as fate would have it for him, he doesn’t get to marvel in the relief. A gunshot breaks the eerie silence around them, the three of them turning to each other before realizing it hadn’t been from them. Dutch shouts something, but it’s lost as the shouts rise into an uproar, bullets decorating the walls behind them as they sprint to the closest exit or cover.

 

The townsmen come barreling after them, Arthur struggling to breathe quick enough to run and keep his feet under him as he slips on the mud. Hosea edges them on, navigating them through turns and over walls. Arthur struggles to keep up, mostly due to how anxious he’d gotten, seeing several men round the corner as he waits for Dutch to climb the wall.

 

He tries to help, pushing him up and saying his encouragements as he glances over his shoulder, more and more men filing into the street behind him. Finally, with a shove, Dutch throws his leg onto the other side of the wall and is quick to drop.

 

Arthur jumps, grabs the edge of the wall and hoists himself up, feet scraping against the wall and not helping as the mud makes him slip. Dutch and Hosea whisper for him to hurry as he struggles, hearing the men spot him. The gunshots ring loud around him, on catches above his elbow and he yelps, hands instinctively letting go and he tumbles to the mud.

 

They shout for him, he can’t even distinguish whether it’d been Dutch and Hosea or the crowd of people aiming at him. He pushes himself to his feet quickly, jumping again and gritting his teeth and he pulls himself slowly above the ledge; Hosea and Dutch visibly relaxing when he comes into their view.

 

His heartbeat sound in his ears as he jumps, one hand cradling his injury as soon as he’s on stable footing again. They scurry away, putting a bit more distance between them and the townsfolk as they round to their horses, who dutifully wait for them, though spooked.

 

Arthur swings himself onto his saddle, giving his horse a gentle pat and grimacing when he spots the streaks of blood he’d spread on her mane. She snorts under the affection, turning under his command as they kick off.

 

Arthur keeps himself tense, doesn’t relax as the city lights become blurred together, though that could just be his vision being messed up from the mess on his arm. He can feel the pain set in, aches along his arm down to his side and thigh. He sighs, breathing heavily and groaning against the sharp pain in his side, he looks down and takes a sharp breath as he notices the blood coating his side. He’d been shot, again. His thigh too, it seems and he wonders how the hell had he only notices his arm, which seems like the least of his problems now.

 

“Hosea,” he calls, startling himself at how weak it had been, Hosea glances at him, eyes widening as calls for Dutch to pull to the side, “Think I got messed up,” he whispers as he gives a light squeeze to his horse to follow where Hosea had dismounted.

 

“You’ll be okay,” he assures, rushing to Arthur’s side as he sways in his saddle, reaching a hand to help the young man down his horse, “come on, we’ll fix you up,” Hosea encourages as Arthur leans heavily against his side, hand blisteringly tight around Hosea’s arm. Dutch joins them quickly, swearing quietly when he spots the blood and retreats into Hosea’s saddle bag to pull out their medical supplies.

 

Arthur winces as he sits, lightheaded and drowsy but doesn’t let it pull him in just yet, waiting for Hosea’s approval. He slumps against the tree stump, head resting gently as he watches Dutch juggle the tonics and bandages he pulled out, Hosea helping him by grabbing some and kneeling beside Arthur.

 

“Here,” Hosea says gently, pushing a bottle in his hand, “Should help you stay awake and painless for a few,” he explains, unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt for him and pulling gently on where the blood sticks the shirt to his wound. He doesn’t let his expression show much, brows furrowed in concentration as Arthur wills himself to take tentative sips of the bitter tonic. He hisses when Hosea starts to prod around the wound, whispering his apologies but not stopping. Dutch stands worriedly beside the horses, shifting on his feet to see what Hosea’s doing and offering assuring smiles whenever Arthur catches his eyes.

 

He can feel himself become sleepier, despite the tonic sitting warm in his belly, the fading pain making his body throb with lethargically. His grip on the night slowly loosens and without warning he finds himself asleep, darkness hugging him tight and not letting him fight it off.

 

 

 

 

He rouses again, head throbbing but quickly overshadowed with how his side stabs at him mercilessly. He would have thought he’d gotten stabbed if he didn’t know any better, events of the botched job fresh in his mind. He’s not leaning against a tree anymore, though, he can feel thin fabric underneath him and a cozy blanket around him. He can instantly recognize the roof of his tent, blinking as he tries to remember when they’d gone back to camp, if he was even awake during it.

 

With a groan, he pushes himself to his feet, thigh aching as swaying for a moment and stabilizes then taking small, careful steps out of his tent. Grimshaw is up and about, as usual, giving an earful to Pearson who’s stirring a pot dully, looking as if Grimshaw isn’t destroying his ear. He smiles to himself, limping over to Dutch’s tent to check on him, not even managing a few steps before the shrill of Grimshaw’s voice calls his name loud and clear.

 

“You stupid, stupid little boy!” She scolds, pacing over to him as he grimaces “You need rest, what are you doing out of your tent?”

 

“Having a walk?” he whispers, clearing his throat after and ignoring how her eyes soften as she gently takes hold of his arm, pulling him to where their newly bought table is. At the commotion, Dutch and Hosea exit, looking delighted to see Arthur sitting with Grimshaw over his shoulder as she orders Pearson to scoop him a bowl of stew.

 

“How are you, Arthur,” Hosea asks calmly, a relieved smile filling his face as he leans against the table, Dutch over his shoulder grinning.

 

“Told you he’d pull through, boy’s stubborn as a mule,” Dutch jokes, placing a hand on Hosea’s shoulder who huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

 

“I’m okay, think it’s more a scare than anything serious,” Arthur shrugs his good shoulder and Hosea nods thoughtfully, “and anyway, it was time before I got my first bullet wound,”

 

“You got three,” Hosea points out sourly but doesn’t erase the joke.

 

“That means three less bullets to go,” He shoots back, smiling thankfully at Pearson as he hands him his stew bowl and spoon. Hosea leans back with a small smile, rolling his shoulder and placing a gentle warm hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “ ‘sides, as long as we have you and Miss Grimshaw, death’ll keep away in fear of your wrath,” he jokes and Dutch snickers as Grimshaw slaps him up the head, “see? Miss, I bet you’ll end up in heaven ‘cuz the devil don’t want your scoldings,”

“Better watch that mouth boy,” Grimshaw warns with no malice, “eat your stew and get some rest, all of yous, don’t think I didn’t see you two boys sneaking into his tent last night, I ain’t blind,” she crosses her arms as Dutch raises his beside his head in a sign of peace, “you lot look like ghosts more than anything living, now go, shoo, leave the boy to eat and _get some sleep_!”

 

“The devil is quaking,” Arthur whispers, looking over to Dutch as he laughs but steps away with a wave. Hosea lingers for a moment before clapping Arthur’s shoulder and letting Grimshaw shoo him into his tent.


End file.
